Surviving on the Northern Front with Gukbap

Chapter 112 : What Happened That Day (3)

What Happened That Day (3)

Dawn, when the moonlight was bright and sharp.

Though the sun would soon rise, battalion commander Kratan was left alone in the operations room, his brow furrowed with worry.

He kept picking up and setting down the piece on the situation board.

He was repeating the act with the marker for Schutmann, the person who, until receiving the latest intel, had been the most high-profile person of interest.

Clatter... rattle....

A commander's decision comes with great responsibility.

That's why a commander must agonize again and again over what the best choice is.

This was his philosophy, and

this was why he could not sleep, even at this late hour.

'It's definitely a trap.'

Kratan had not shared his thoughts with the company commanders,

but he, too, had arrived at a judgment similar to Ian's.

'No matter how the tides of war favor us, that guy would never retreat so easily.'

He was a battalion commander who had fought for years against the red rooster's chieftain, Jonar.

He knew the bastard's tendencies better than anyone else, as a commander.

And that birdbrain is going to tuck tail and run?

No. That would never happen.

Even if he were dying, he'd try to push through by force.

Thus, Kratan was convinced there was a high chance this was a trap.

He had decided on this even before hearing the company commanders' opinions.

But the real source of his anxiety was something else.

'Why did Schutmann also insist upon defense instead of advancing?'

Schutmann was Granfen's enemy.

He didn't know when, but Schutmann intended to wipe out Granfen.

If that was the case, it would have made sense for him to lure them into attacking, to make them fall into the trap.

'I just don't get it.'

Why?

Why did he even say "absolutely," insisting they not march forward and instead remain at the garrison?

'There has to be a reason.'

This was why the battalion commander couldn't sleep until late during the night,

yet he was unable to reach a clear answer in the end.

Putting down the game piece in frustration,

he thought of the person he trusted most among his subordinates.

'Did Ian catch on to Schutmann's real intentions?'

Originally, the battalion commander had viewed this war with optimism.

Thanks to Ian, the combat prowess of the officers had improved dramatically.

If luck was on their side, he had even expected the war could end—a hope that all of Granfen yearned for.

But—

'All of it was a vain hope.'

Just as he, himself, had prepared "Ian" as a hidden card,

Jonar had brought a "new strategist" as his own ace.

But who could it be?

Even the thickheaded Jonar, who never listened to that "fox strategist", 'For such a prideful birdbrain to carry out someone else's strategy—that's something.'

That fact alone proved that the opponent's new strategist was no ordinary one.

Because of that person alone, the war's difficulty suddenly spiked.

While Kratan was agonizing over these thoughts,

inside the beastkin camp's tent—

Scritch, scritch.

Aishdin, the rabbit beastkin from the Magic Tower, was scratching the ear hole on top of his head.

'Someone talking behind my back? Why does it itch so much?'

As he flicked off a ball of earwax,

the tent entrance creaked open, and a rat beastkin, caked in dust, rushed inside.

"Aishdin, sir. I-I washed the humans' combat clothing as ordered!"

The soldier handed a set of padded armor (gambison) to Aishdin.

The trembling hands held a well-used but worn gambison, a favorite among Granfen soldiers.

Aishdin gave it a good sniff, then grumbled.

"Did you even wash this properly? It still reeks."

"J-just in case, I washed it twice, sir!"

The soldier glanced nervously at the corpse lying in the corner.

That was what happened to someone who brought the gambison unwashed.

"Well, we can't waste any more time, so I'll have to be satisfied with this. You got lucky."

"Th-thank you!"

"Thank you, my ass. Get lost and report that preparations are complete."

"Yes, sir!"

Once the rat beastkin left, Aishdin put on the human soldiers' gear.

He donned the ragged gambison, slipped out of his shoes and gloves,

and pressed on a leather helmet at the end.

His rabbit ears, sticking out atop his head, were now fully hidden and flattened.

"Hm. Not bad."

Aishdin stood in front of the mirror, tilting his face this way and that.

Now, at a glance, he looked no different from a human.

A disguise only a rabbit beastkin could pull off,

impossible for others.

'I don't much like having to do this, but there's no other way if I want to use "this" stably.'

Aishdin looked at the fist-sized orb in his hand.

An ominous artifact with multicolored eyes squirming as if alive, tightly packed together—

the "Ten Thousand Times Cursed Eye."

"Well then, guess it's time to begin."

As Aishdin's lips twisted into a sly grin, the eyes in the orb all blinked at once.

*

Bwooooooooooo—

Maybe the tension from last night's operations meeting hadn't dissipated.

I woke up suddenly at the sound of a horn.

"All units, battle stations!!"

"Battle stations!!"

I heard the soldiers shouting outside.

My heart pounded like a war drum, heat surging down my veins.

I sat up and reached for my battle gear, calling out:

"Ruth! Go out and get a grasp of the situation."

"Yes, sir!"

Ruth rushed out, fluttering the tent flap.

Through the gap, I could see the pre-dawn sky.

It wasn't even properly light yet—the three mountains forming the background of "that labyrinth" looked pitch-black.

'... Huh?'

My hands, searching for my gear, slowed down involuntarily.

Something was definitely off.

'Did the enemy attack at dawn?'

Wasn't the intel last night saying they were preparing to retreat?

That implied there'd been some movement pulling back forces or supplies.

Launching a sudden dawn raid in such a situation didn't add up.

'What's going on?'

A possible infiltration for an assassination,

or maybe a small guerrilla force?

Whatever it was, I couldn't shake off an uneasy feeling.

I finished equipping my gear, ahead of Zaiya and Ricky, and headed out of the tent toward the mess hall.

'Got to get my buff.'

Based on previous battles, I probably didn't need it,

but my instincts urged me not to let my guard down.

Flap.

Entering the mess, I lifted the lid off a pot.

There was leftover cold rice from last night's rations.

I gulped it down for the strength buff, and was about to leave, when—

"Haa."

I couldn't bring myself to move my feet.

Finally, I pulled an iron pan out from a corner of the kitchen.

Inside was some emergency exotic bear stew I'd made a week ago and managed to secretly stash away.

'Should I eat this too?'

I'd been boiling it morning and night to keep it from spoiling,

but now, it seemed as if it was begging me to put it out of its misery.

I hesitated between wanting to save it and wanting to be prepared for anything.

'What do I do? Eat it or not?'

The dilemma was complicated but not long.

You die saving your bombs in a shooting game—so in doubt, just use it.

Gulp, gulp.

I downed the fatty, salty, cold broth straight from the pan.

.

.

〈 //Exclusive effect// Cannot be shared. 〉

〈 Endurance increases slightly and is applied in small amounts. 〉

〈 Bone strength increases slightly. 〉

〈 Increased bone strength will not decrease. (3 hours 15 minutes) 〉

〈 Additional effects granted. 〉

〈 General customer buff effectiveness increases by 10%. (48 hours) 〉

〈 Increased strength will not decrease. (36 hours) 〉

〈 Increased endurance will not decrease. (15 hours) 〉

A rush of power at the sound of these cheat-level buff notifications I hadn't heard in a while.

Basking in this feeling, I strode out of the mess with purpose,

and found Ruth and Ralph running toward me.

"You should have at least told your subordinates where you were going, Ian."

Good grief. Where else would a cook platoon leader go except the mess?

"What's going on? Is it a surprise attack?"

To my question, Ralph shook his head.

"I wish it were a surprise attack."

"?"

He wishes it were a surprise attack?

Then why were the soldiers shouting battle stations?

Even the horn was the one used when an enemy was spotted nearby.

"The enemy's approaching the garrison, aren't they?"

"That's right."

For a second, I thought he was joking,

but the next thing Ralph said left me speechless.

"They've come to negotiate a ceasefire."

My face must have been frozen in shock.

*

Beastkin and humans are sworn enemies.

I didn't know exactly why, but that was the premise.

In the game, too, they hated and fought each other fiercely.

Of course, I found out the real reason after falling into this world.

'Humans are a race that instinctively rejects differences.'

Even in modern times, people with different views would fight to the death.

A simple example: racism.

Racism was only recognized as a problem in modern times,

and even today, it hasn't been completely resolved.

Humans have a fundamental aversion to difference.

And that's in the blood of the human race.

So how could humans and beastkin, in a medieval context no less, ever embrace each other?

But I digress.

A peace agreement between humans and beastkin was impossible.

That's why, when I got back to the operations room, I couldn't understand the battalion commander.

'The beastkin came waving a white flag right up to the garrison?'

Only thirty beastkin showed up.

They even brought 50 human prisoners.

As if to show sincerity, they offered to return them as a gesture for the ceasefire.

"......"

Not the battalion commander, nor any of the company commanders, nor Schutmann, nor myself could open our mouths easily.

Even last night, we'd thought, "no way—they're preparing to withdraw—this is definitely a trap", and now the enemy was taking even more definitive action.

"Battalion commander. How do you plan to respond?"

Lantz was the first to break the silence.

"Hahaha. I'm curious to hear the company commanders' opinions."

No sooner had he spoken than Hank burst out:

"Take back our prisoners, then strike them all down right away! This is our true chance!"

Typical. That green-eyed bastard only ever thinks of fighting.

With that thought, Lantz chimed in as well:

"When we heard the beasts were withdrawing, there was still a chance of a trap—but at this point, it doesn't seem like the information we've gathered is a trap after all."

"Hahaha. And your conclusion?"

"I agree with Hank. Take our prisoners, and wipe them out while they run."

"Not a bad plan. What about you, Ralph?"

At that, Ralph glanced at me, but the battalion commander cut him off at once.

"Now, Ralph. A company commander needs to make decisions. Harhar."

"S-sorry, sir."

Ralph flinched and looked down,

then, after a few seconds of thought, spoke.

"I'm not sure about the overall strategy, but... I'd like us to at least take back the prisoners."

Ralph's eyes had hardened, and the battalion commander, clearly pleased, smiled and asked,

"Why? Do you know someone among the prisoners?"

"Well... yes, sir. There are several I'm personally acquainted with."

Before we knew it, Ralph was looking at the battalion commander with desperate eyes.

He'd been on perimeter duty today and had confirmed the approaching beastkin and prisoners firsthand.

'That's so Ralph—all heart.'

This was what I liked about Ralph.

Kind, cares for people,

which makes his subordinates truly follow him.

But—

'War isn't fought with emotions.'

This world is cruel; it's the Middle Ages.

There are no "forbidden tactics" by treaty, as in modern times.

In other words, "false surrender" isn't forbidden.

'There's still a chance they could stab us in the back.'

How do I know this?

Try surviving for 10 years in the game "Belkhazium".

Random character deaths would occur even while camping with your party,

and even weirder situations would arise in war.

So I couldn't just keep my mouth shut.

"I'm sorry, but I am against accepting the prisoners."

All three company commanders' eyes bore into me.

Hank's gaze was openly hostile; Lantz looked curious; Ralph's...

'Haven't seen that face in a while.'

That was the same look Ralph gave me when I wouldn't give him pumpkin soup before the sparring tournament.

Our big-jaw guy looked furious.

But I couldn't yield.

"There's a possibility the prisoners were brainwashed by the beasts. They could gather intel or attempt assassination inside the camp—"

BANG!

The sound of a fist slamming onto a desk rang out.

But it wasn't Hank—it was Ralph.

"That's enough, Ian. Knock it off."

Ralph stopped me cold with a searing gaze,

as if to say, don't you dare insult our comrades any further.

Then, Hank chimed in with a low voice,

"No honorable soldier of the North would ever be brainwashed by beasts."

Hank looked at me with disdain.

From that look, I could read, "That's such an outsider way of thinking."

It left a bitter taste in my mouth,

and Lantz also voted against my opinion.

"Ian platoon leader's view isn't absurd. But the odds are incredibly low. The beastkin we're fighting aren't capable of such complicated tricks. Maybe if it were demonkin."

Lantz was clearly sharper than the other two company commanders,

and the battalion commander asked Schutmann,

"What about you, Schutmann?"

"I don't care whether we take the prisoners or not. Even if they were brainwashed, with your level of combat strength, there shouldn't be much risk. But we absolutely should not advance. If it's a trap, we don't need to take that risk."

As his words finished, silence fell again.

The battalion commander stroked his mustache in thought,

and we waited for his decision.

"It can't be helped. Harhar."

The old man's hollow laughter echoed,

and his command was slowly relayed throughout the tent.

"We'll accept the prisoners the enemy is offering, but will not advance. For now, we'll keep a close eye on their movements."

"Yes, sir!"

Relief and joy mingled on Ralph's face.

But I could not feel the same.

'As Schutmann and Lantz said, the odds of a problem via the prisoners are low, but...'

Why?

I couldn't shake off this inexplicable sense of creepiness,

and—

"Excuse me, battalion commander!"

Right at the moment before the old man's order to dismiss us, I shot my hand up.

"... What is it, Ian?"

As everyone turned their sharp gazes on me,

I opened my mouth and spoke clearly.